


Frottage

by MintJam



Series: Thoughts, asks, headcanons and ficlets [6]
Category: Peaky Blinders
Genre: Anal Sex, Frottage, M/M, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28009938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintJam/pseuds/MintJam
Summary: In response to a tumblr ask
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Series: Thoughts, asks, headcanons and ficlets [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540363
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	Frottage

Thomas Shelby, despite the rumours, don’t hold the rights to a poor night’s sleep. Alfie himself has been known to walk the halls between 3 and 4am — increasingly frequently as it happens. Any correlation with this whole, occassionally-sharing-a-bed-because- we’re-too-fucked-out-to-move, situation is purely coincidental. Although now that he comes to think of it, Tommy does sleep like a toddler. He fidgets and kicks and steals the blankets and fuckin’ well talks in the night. Proper disconcertin’ it was the first time. Made Alfie shriek like a girl. Weren’t even any sense to be made of it, neither, to be traded on in the morning. 

He’s out like a light now though, Tommy. Bloody well should be after his earlier antics — insatiable little whore. S’probably why Alfie’s back’s playin’ up. He roots around in the bathroom cabinet for something to dull the ache, knocking half a dozen things into the sink in the process and cursing at the clatter. 

He lumbers back into the bedroom after a piss and a glass of water, only to find Tommy has left him with approximately 5 inches in which to sleep. For someone so fuckin’ little, he sure knows how to fill space — sprawled on his stomach like a bent up starfish. Poses Alfie a right dilemma though, don’t it? Cause if he wakes the little bugger up now, there’s no chance of any more sleep. Tommy will cough and grumble and fidget until the street-lights go out and then, when he’s made damn sure Alfie can’t get back to sleep either, he’ll get up and go out for a smoke. 

He’s almost committed to taking himself off to the spare room (in his own bleeding house, what is the world fuckin’ coming to?) when he notices Tommy is moving. Ever so slightly. Hips rocking against the mattress in a most intriguing way.

Well, well, well, Alfie smiles to himself. Maybe sleep can wait. He crawls onto the bed like a lion keen not to alert its prey, walking up from the bottom on slowing-moving hands and knees until he’s hovering right over Tommy, still miraculously asleep. Dreaming. Making soft clicking sounds with his tongue. 

And Alfie? Well, Alfie’s hard now, ain’t he? Primed and ready to go (save for the issue of two sets of boxers in the way) but nothing that can’t be fixed. He places a hand over Tommy’s, carefully lacing their fingers, then holds the other hand down and lowers himself, so they're two bent starfish, one on top of the other. 

Tommy, finally waking, sounds uncharacteristically confused, “what the ...? Alfie?” the rest of the words are lost because they’re mumbled into the pillow. 

“Having a nice dream, precious?” Alfie whispers, kissing the back of his neck, behind his ear. “Certainly looks that way. How about you carry on whilst I just lie down here?” He grinds his hard cock against the crease of Tommy’s arse and hums in satisfaction. Tommy grinds his hips in response, moaning into the feathers. “That’s it, just like that Tom.”

There follows a delicious twenty minutes where Tommy grinds into the mattress and Alfie grinds into Tommy, who starts out trying to turn over, but gives up when Alfie nearly crushes his fingers and forces him down with his hips. “You’re gonna stay just like this love. I’m not going anywhere.” For good measure he keeps Tommy’s legs splayed wide — knees pushed hard against knees. 

“Such a needy little thing aren’t you?” he says, “humping against the bed. Bet you wish you had a nice tight fist to help you along eh?”

“Yes,” Tommy gasps, flexing his fingers in anticipation.

“Too bad mine are occupied keeping you held in place.”

Tommy growls in frustration and bucks his hips hard. “There’s my little bronco,” Alfie chuckles. There really is little he enjoys more than riling Tommy up. Getting him turned on to a point where he’ll sacrifice his ego. 

“Must be very frustrating down there. Not enough friction, I’ll bet.”

“It’s fine,” Tommy moans, and he sounds fucking pissed off now. “Better if there weren’t a bloody great bear lying on me back.”

“No need to be rude, now, he tuts. "And to think, I was going to fuck you.... S’pose you’re used to more delicate things. Take that horse-woman for instance. Bet she didn’t feel like a bear.”

“I never fucked her, Alfie,” and bless him, he sounds proper cross.

“Oh but she wanted to fuck you, Treacle. She wanted to fuck you bad. Ride you like one of her horses.” 

Tommy snaps his hips. Cause he fucking likes that idea. “Bet she’d fuck you good, an’all. Use a nice thick strap-on just to see you froth a bit.”

“Fuck, Alife,” Tommy says, and who knows what that means? Judging by the way their hips are grinding, Alfie decides it's encouragement. 

“And those thighs, yeah, those horse-rider's thighs. She’d sure know how to control you, could probably pound you for hours. Bareback. And if your stamina started to wain, she’d just pull out her crop. Giddy up her pony.” 

There’s no pretence any more, Tommy’s grinding both up and down. Alfie curses the fabric between them, but maybe it’s for the best — he’d be riding that pretty hole himself if it weren’t for their underpants. And this, well, it makes a change yeah? S’good to make Tommy work for it. Keeps him on his toes.

Alfie must be lost in his thoughts, because Tommy somehow flips, struggles underneath him til he’s lying on his back. Alfie laughs, and then kisses him hard and grinds their cocks together. “Her cock was bigger than yours,” Tommy mumbles between hot tongues.

“I knew it, you fuckin’ little tramp ...” 

“Yours’ll do, at a push.”

“Not tonight it won’t Treacle. You’re gonna come like this.” 

*

“What were you dreamin’ about anyway?” Alfie asks an hour later, when the sun is peaking through the window and they’re both sweat-soaked and exhausted. 

“You really wanna know?” Tommy gives him that eyebrow-raised look that means no, he probably doesn’t.

“Roll over, Mr Solomons. I’ll tell you while I fuck you.”


End file.
